épreuve par le feu
by Mizuni-no-neko
Summary: Christophe would do anything for Gregory, even walk through Hell itself. Pour ma Juliette.


Thanks to the only person who makes any of this possible! My love, my life, my world, my muse, my Juliet. I love you so much, sunshine.

Please forgive if it's a bit morbid but that one line from Far away was stuck in my head.

The title means Trial by fire or Test by fire. I found it appropriate.

* * *

_On my knees I'll ask_

_Last chance for one last dance_

_Cause with you I'd withstand _

_all of hell to hold your hand_

Christophe looked over the burning plains off hell, spouts of lava and steam shooting up every few feet from gigantic geysers. He had been here only once before, in the war with Canada when that idiot Cartman had all but insured his death by guard dogs…he fucking _hated _guard dogs. But now his stay in Hell was permanent and his journey was so much more important than just saving two idiot Canadian comedians.

He had to find Gregory.

Three weeks before Gregory had been killed in a car accident. At first Christophe held no hope of being reunited. He was sure his darling angel would go to heaven despite any sins he had committed, most of them with the mercenary himself. He smirked at the memory of some of the things they had done together…yes, he was eager to see his love again.

He had spent the first few hours after Gregory's death pestering Damien to tell him where the blonde had gone. If he had indeed gone to heaven then there was nothing Christophe could do. It was too late now to turn his life over to god, the faggot would never take him no matter how much be prayed and begged and did good.

Finally, the son of Satan had gotten fed up with the frantic French babble mixed in with heavily accented English and told him "He went to Hello, ok? There, ya happy?"

He wasn't, not completely. He had been secretly hoping that Gregory had indeed gone to heaven, he deserved it. His angel deserved nothing but the best and Hell was beneath him. But now there was only one thing standing between him and Gregory.

Death.

Christophe had thrown himself onto the battlefield, taking the most dangerous of missions and being as reckless as possible without endangering others. He may have wanted to die, but he wasn't a _complete_ douche. It took him three whole weeks, surprisingly, but finally he had been killed trying to assassinate Obama. Luckily he hadn't succeeded, but that hadn't been the point. He may not have liked some of his ideas, but he would rather have Obama than Biden.

Christophe heaved a sigh and started picking his way through the scorching badlands. It wasn't too hard, he reflected, kind of like walking through a mine field. You just had to be careful where you stepped. Not that it would matter much if he was hit by a geyser, he was sure it couldn't hurt him now that he was dead.

As he walked he let his mind wander back to that horrible day.

It hadn't been raining, it wasn't dark, no drugs or alcohol was involved, and no one fell asleep. As far as anyone could tell Gregory had been pushed off the bridge by the updrafts from a semi truck.

The car had tumbled 150 ft into a ravine, rolling over onto him at the very last, trapping him in it's burning embrace and crushing him. The body had only been recognizable by the orange dress shirt and the ring Christophe had given him with the message "Pour mon coeur" written on it.

Christophe had been home, waiting patiently for Gregory to come home so they could have a nice, quiet dinner and then as many rounds of vigorous sex as their bodies could handle. He had picked up the phone, expecting it to be Gregory calling to tell him why he was late and how long he'd be…but a state trooper had been on the other line. The phone had dropped out of his hand and onto the floor and by the time he was able to move all you could hear from it was the dial tone and the sound of Christophe's heart shattering.

It was the first time he could ever remember crying.

He wiped his dry cheeks to make sure that the memory hadn't brought back the dreaded tears. He had to be strong for Gregory, that was who he was. He was Christophe, Ze Mole, the mercenary, the strong one. He hadn't known that Gregory had always been the source of his strength. Without him he was just an empty husk of a man.

He didn't even notice when someone fell into step beside him, he was so lost in thought. Blue eyes raked over him and pouty pink lips turned up in a smile. "Having a nice walk, love?" The mysterious stranger asked. Only…he wasn't a stranger.

Christophe's eyes widened as he looked over at the angelic blonde, the picture of pure and perfect beauty in Christophe's eyes. "Gregory?" He whispered, jaw slack. The blonde just nodded and giggled before throwing himself at his Mole.

"Oh, Christophe! I missed you terribly!" He cried, hugging the mercenary with all his might. Strong arms wrapped around him and held him dearly.

"I meesed you as well, mon coeur." He whispered, burying his face in his lover's golden hair.

"But why would you die just to be with me?" He asked, blue eyes wide and confused.

Christophe just smiled and kissed him tenderly. "Mon amour, you know I would walk zrough 'ell just to 'old your 'and."

* * *

Pour mon coeur, ma Juliette, mon amour, et mon vie. Je t'aime tout les jours de mon vie.


End file.
